


Lithium

by TururaJ



Category: Aldnoah.Zero (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Just a drabble, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV First Person, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 19:39:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15154214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TururaJ/pseuds/TururaJ
Summary: You are the impossible I never wanted.





	Lithium

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I'm sorry, this is pretty shitty and just a drabble, because I had no mood. But I'm leaving an open ending here since I can't for the life of me just kill Slaine off.  
> Also, this is kinda a songfic. I'd recommend reading with:  
> All Good Things - Stay Now

‘I promise I can change’, the words I told you that day, were they even real? I remember I fell on my knees and cried an ocean. There was an ocean of blood beneath me, and I floated on it, alone, until you suddenly drifted to me and held me. We were christened in that ocean on the day the foliage burned yellow. I like yellow (not orange); it’s a bright color. You once took me to a field of sunflowers, but I felt nothing - nothing until you touched my hand, and for a second, one smallest second, I was breathing again, and thought that, maybe - maybe you were warm, and maybe the world around really celebrated summer.

We had three years. I lingered, somewhere in between the hours of day and night, of hollowness and your presence. We had good days and bad days. We had tea, and I couldn’t stop wondering why you were so stuck on that orange concoction that you kept bringing into my cell. The smell of the tea was like a pendulum; it would wake me up when I wanted to be swallowed up by my dreams (nightmares); it would force me into sleep when I wanted to stay with you. But there would always be your hands which pulled the blanket over my shoulders. I liked your hands; they were (are) the epitome of gentleness.

Though don’t you know that gentleness is wasted on a corpse?

“If your body is a corpse then what is your soul?” you used to ask, and it would make me think (it is so hard to think, Inaho, especially now) and look at you. Have someone ever told you that you are beautiful? You hair is like a bird nest, and that nest can carry the weight of the whole world in it. Your only eye is the color of blood (we have the same human blood; isn’t it fascinating?), and your second eye knows my darkness well. Aside from that irritating guy in the white robe, you are the only one now who knows my darkness. I consider it a bond. Do you? 

I remember there was someone else who I wanted to be bonded with. The memory is hazy, and I’m not delving inside it. It seems darker than the familiar darkness I’m residing in (but I know, I _know_ what is there). No, fuck it. You are the only one I ever wanted. Am I beautiful? The scars are now reaching up to my fingers and toes. I grow blue roses there; sometimes they bloom on my skin. These are usually the times you bring me your annoying tea. You are stubborn, aren’t you? You are the impossible I never wanted.

‘You could do better’, you say often. Ah, that hurts, Inaho. Don’t you know? The best I had was a year ago when you took me to your home. I was trying so desperately - I ate, I slept, I listened to you and we had those wonderful evenings on your porch. Kisses never felt so right; world wasn’t ever so light. Your hands were on my back, repelling the darkness lurking there. I allowed myself to feel you, I allowed myself to trust you, I believed your words and chased after the future. I danced with you in your room under the moonlight, and your kisses cut away all my roses. I didn’t mind.

And then I watched as the world crashed down, and you couldn’t follow me off the floor. It is a vivid memory. It pulses even now - wherever I look I can still see you lying silently there, over the white sheets, with the knife carved into your delicate skin. I was the artist. I forgot I had no future, and instead of chasing it - I became the one who was chased. They had asked me later why I did it, but I don’t remember. Maybe I forgot to drink your tea?

“Hit me,” I told you after you came back. “Hate me.” But you forgave me. It was a mistake, Inaho, but I can’t choose for you.

The garden of blue roses welcomed me. And then you brought her (the _what_ ). That was the only day I ever hated you truly. I screamed my lungs out, I trashed the cell, I tried to rip open my chest, I scared you (the _what_ went away, never to return). You stayed again, you held my broken and bloody hands, and your eye that knows my darkness shed the red tears (or maybe I have touched your face?). “Is it too late?” you had asked me, and I smiled a hollow smile. “It was always late,” I said.

I sleep a lot these days. My body doesn’t belong to me. My mind wanders. I’m running on a wheel, I haul you down. I’m not a bat anymore, I’m not a gull. I am just a shabby feather that you chase. I wonder why you don’t want out.

“Am I beautiful?” I ask as your hand goes up my arm in a usual and familiar caress. We’ve been over this procedure hundreds of times, hundreds of days. Will there be hundreds of years as well?

“Yes, Slaine. You are.” In your trembling voice there are no traces of lies. Ah, sometimes I wish it wasn’t so, Inaho (no, you know I don’t. Stay, stay with me, who knows what I might do).

You were always there. You pulled me up. You watched me fall. Never once you’ve turned away from me.

Let me go.

Let me go, Inaho.

I love you.

But, please, let me go. You deserve better.

“Inaho,” my tongue is heavy. The world rejects me, or is it me who is rejecting the world? “Please.”

Is it going to be one more pitiful day in my garden or will you make it wither and die (together with me)?

You hold the syringe.


End file.
